


which way is out to get me in

by veridical



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Gen, Hiding in the Closet, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridical/pseuds/veridical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclonus and Whirl battle for the title of the Worst At Apologies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	which way is out to get me in

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [starscreamwashere](http://starscreamwashere.tumblr.com/) @ [tformersgiftexchange2014](http://tformersgiftexchange2014.tumblr.com/). Originally posted on Tumblr, finally decided to post this here :)
> 
> Prompt came from my friend copannan, thank you!

"Alright," said Cyclonus. "But I talk first."

"Whatever."

"If you think that you could contribute something, think once more, then wait until I am finished, then say your piece. Is that clear?"

"Oh, crystal. So what you gonna say?"

Cyclonus exhaled. "That I am sorry, and I didn't think before acting. And..."

"...and how you're not doing it just so that he lets you come back to your habsuite."

"I don't even know why I'm talking to you. I don't even know why you're here. Why are you here?" 

Whirl clicked his claws. "Oh, I was just bored and... passing by."

"You were standing in front of  _our_  habsuite when I came here."

There came the clicking again. Cyclonus suspected he was using it to make up for the very small range of sounds one could produce without a mouth.

"Wanted to see how the place looked after, you know? Thought I could ask you, but, of course," Whirl snapped his claws, and Cyclonus suddenly imagined him grinning, "the little guy does not let you in."

Cyclonus heard his engine growl before he could stop it. Whirl whirred his own in delight. "I didn't think you would even go in without his permission. It's really such a pretty sight, you--"

"No," the jet said, forcing himself to calm down. "No. I am not letting you aggravate me again. Not here, not anywhere on--"

"And then I saw him just the other day, and let me tell you - you can tell a lot by the way a bot orders their drink! And, of course, the nature of the order. And this one had totally had a great night. In fact, I think--" a horribly familiar voice came from outside, muffed.

"Spare me the details," someone else moaned, and Cyclonus recognised the little archivist.

"No, wait, I wanna hear,” came Tailgate’s voice.

Cyclonus looked at Whirl and found a single yellow optic already fixed on him, slightly wider than usual. They could get out, if they were fast. Apologies could wait.

"Get out," he snapped.

"I don't think so," Whirl chirped. The voices were getting closer. "Well, what are you gonna do?"

There was the utility closet. He could dump Whirl in there, except that was probably even worse, because he would get out eventually, and Cyclonus would still have to face Tailgate and his friends, which was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't _mind_ Tailgate bringing his friends into the habsuite they _shared_ \- they have discussed this, extensively, - but right now, in the situation he was in, their presence would not be welcome.

Right. And who else was not welcome? Him. Them. Them _two_. That was made absolutely clear the last time Tailgate spoke to him.

"Utility closet," Cyclonus growled, and then, thinking better of it, said quieter, "Now."

"Are you off your--" Whirl blurted out in a squeaky voice before the purple jet grabbed him and hauled him along into the closet.

The door slid close behind them, and then he heard the sound of one opening. Horrified, Cyclonus belatedly realised that it was the habsuite door. They had no way to see it. No way out. They were absolutely, irreversibly trapped.

"No sound out of you," he hissed as low as he could.

The door swished closed. Whirl stayed suspiciously quiet.

"Oh. I thought it would be... It looks nice," Rewind finished awkwardly.

Cyclonus glanced back at Whirl. The single optic stared right back. The jet felt like it was mocking him, but he had no way to be sure. At least he was still silent.

"I tidied up," Tailgate's voice was heard. It sounded a bit rough. But maybe it was just the door muffling the sound. "I have some experience with that. You know.

There... was some space in the closet. It probably helped that Whirl was all dangly legs and limbs, nothing really protruding except for the guns on his chestplate.

"Alright, so how about a little movie night mock-up? Like a real one, but only three of us? Uh," Swerve paused, "you know, right? We used to have those--"

"I know." Rewind interrupted him. Cyclonus wondered if they used to have movie nights on the other Lost Light.

There was a single clicking sound.

"I'm... not really in the mood," the waste disposal minibot said, followed by a metallic crash. He must have sat down on their-- on his berth. "Sorry. I think it's the place."

"I understand," a soft sound, a pat on the shoulder, "Whenever me and Domey-- well, we used to fight quite often--"

"It's not like that!" Tailgate snapped.

"Why couldn't we go to your new habsuite, though?" Swerve inquired.

There was a long pause.

Whirl was clicking his claws softly again. It was not loud at all, and most probably meant to aggravate Cyclonus, not draw attention to their precarious position. The jet had no idea what he would do if Whirl decided to speak; it wasn't like he had any mouth to be shut by force.

"I don't know," Rewind said, and then something else, even more quietly. Cyclonus didn't catch it because Whirl decided that this was the moment to up the clicking game, and he had to grab his claws.

They stared at each other. Cyclonus pretended the guns on Whirl's chest weren't about to stick into the less defended parts of his armour.  What could he do, really? He couldn't promise violence if the helicopter didn't behave. Violence was what got them here.

Outside, after a lengthy silence, Tailgate repeated, “It’s not like that. We didn’t “have a fight”.  _He_  had a fight with _Whirl_. In here."

Cyclonus could just see him crossing his hands, EM-field closed off stubbornly.

"He called me by name," Whirl said abruptly.

"What?" Cyclonus flinched, forgetting he was supposed to keep quiet.

"Did you--" Rewind started.

"Hey!" Swerve yelped, as if suddenly remembering something. It was probably meant to sound natural. "You know what happened just recently? Megatron came in like it was nobody's business and headed straight for--"

Cyclonus tried to shut off his audio feed, but then remembered it could lead to Whirl making _stupid loud sounds_  while he would be none the wiser, and turned it back on.

"...and then they just up and left!"

"And you had to clean up the broken glass after?" Tailgate sounded a little less on edge, almost amused. Cyclonus found himself ex-venting just a little.

"Just as always. And another time— Tailgate may already have heard about this, but another time— Getaway told me that Skids told him that Whirl once took Rung for a ride in his alt mode."

“Pffff, no way,” Rewind snorted.

“Yes way!” Swerve replied, triumphantly.

Cyclonus almost asked Whirl if it was true. The helicopter was staying suspiciously quiet. He could only pray the minibots would keep to such topics.

“I’m not sure I believe it either,” Tailgate huffed.

“But it does sound cool, doesn’t it?” It sounded mad, to be sure, but Cyclonus was in no position to speak. “You know, I believe I remember you telling me that you wouldn’t mind a ride of your own—"

“Not on  _Whirl_!” Tailgate protested. “And I don’t recall telling you—“

“Well, not on Whirl, of course."

Cyclonus froze up. The EM-field on the edge of his own thrummed in glee.

“Well-well-well!” Whirl chided.

“Quiet,” the jet hissed.

In reply, Whirl pushed the air out of his vents. Noisily. Outside, the bartender was spinning yet another tale.

"Wait,” Rewind said.

"But I wasn't finished!" Swerve whined.

"I heard something weird. Something… coming almost from this room.”

"What?" Tailgate perked up. "What? Here? Where?"

"Maybe Skids decided to go explore the vents again?" 

"He _does_ that?" Rewind asked, incredulous. "No, that sounded like-- like--"

"Don't!" Cyclonus hissed, but it was too late. He fumbled, trying to locate something that would make the door impossible to open from outside.

"I think it's coming from there--"

The door slid open. Whirl didn't really try to keep his balance.

"Oh," said Rewind. The little light on his helm was shining steady red.

"Wow," Swerve commented, and then, after a minute passed, “Your habsuite is... weird."

Cyclonus raised his optics and then dropped his helm down. Oh, this was humiliating beyond any measure.

"Get off me!" Whirl shrieked, as if he was not the one responsible for this. Cyclonus made sure to sit on his legs before getting up completely.

"What. Were you doing there?" Tailgate demanded, voice unexpectedly low.

"He started it," Whirl chipped in.

"Shut up," Tailgate hissed.

Cyclonus stayed silent. He was not going to embarrass himself any further in front of the others, but Tailgate's steady blue gaze was hard to take. Harder than he expected.

“I don’t know why this keeps happening to me,” the waste disposal minibot told no one in particular. Rewind patted him on the shoulder.

"Some like the vents, some prefer the closets," Swerve muttered. Cyclonus didn't think on implications of this.

"How about you get out," he asked, referring to Whirl, first of all, but he didn't mind if everyone else left too. He ruined this already, of course.

"I don't think so, you--" Whirl whirred, but Cyclonus was looking at Tailgate, who held his gaze stubbornly.

"How about a documentary, Whirl?" Rewind suggested. "You drink and brag, I shoot."

"Do I shoot?" Whirl asked hopefully.

"Not if I can help it," Swerve muttered.

“Uh. Sorry," Tailgate supplied, not really meaning it, probably.

He collapsed on the berth, not even waiting for others to get out. Rewind looked like he knew what he was doing - the documentary was most probably not the first.

"Why did you start it, Cyclonus?" Tailgate asked quietly, when they were left alone.

"I did not."

But he sat down beside him.

"I meant, that time. You know. The time before." The minibot looked up at him. Cyclonus knew Tailgate was trying to glare at him, and failing, and his spark twisted somewhat terrible.

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied curtly.

"I can ask Whirl, you know."

"Since when do you-- oh, nevermind.” He vented a sigh. “He expressed some... opinions I disagreed with."

"You didn't have to disagree with them here!" Tailgate exclaimed, screwing up his whole cold indifferent exterior. Not that he was managing very well. "Why was he even here?"

Cyclonus stared out of the window.

"I was… thankful.” He was  _soft_. This made him soft.

Tailgate was silent, but Cyclonus didn’t turn his helm to find out if they were both looking into the space, dark as their habsuite. Still, he could see some stars, about as bright as the barely-visible blue light on his left.

"He was the one who suggested the idea, you know. To save you. That was him.”

"Oh. I would like to thank him," Tailgate murmured. Cyclonus thought back on that one glitched moment when he felt something strange in Whirl's field, something that made no sense, when he heard Tailgate refer to him by name, and thought that maybe he already had.

Not that he cared.

He didn’t wait for Tailgate to prompt him into talking further.

“I wanted to tell you about it, and that looked like a perfect opportunity.” It would be. If only Whirl wasn’t Whirl.

“What went wrong?"

Сyclonus scowled. “Everything. You weren’t here, and he began… asking.” Provoking, more like. “About your gift. About your recovery. About me.“ He hoped this was enough; he had no desire to tell Tailgate any more of this. That was not one of his proudest moments.

"Oh."

"Yes."

Then Tailgate giggled.

Cyclonus waited patiently.

“You did look pretty funny when you tumbled out of the closet,” Tailgate said.

The jet growled.

"It's okay," Tailgate said quickly, and laid a hand on his thigh. Cyclonus suppressed a flinch. He still wasn't used to this, could never get used to this. There was nothing possessive in the gesture. Tailgate's hand was warm.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, what he should have said much earlier, on more than one occasion.

"It's okay," Tailgate repeated, and his field washed over Cyclonus like a warm wind on Cybertron of old. "I forgive you."

For the first time, Cyclonus reached for him first.


End file.
